


our dreams are not our own

by AnxietyAvocado



Category: Fruits Basket, Fruits Basket (Anime 2019), Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, tags may change if this is added to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxietyAvocado/pseuds/AnxietyAvocado
Summary: they say that your dreams are your soulmate's memories
Relationships: Honda Tohru/Sohma Kyou
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	our dreams are not our own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [floraltohru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/floraltohru/gifts).



_your dreams are important_ , they say. _you never know if they are your own, or if they are meant to guide you. they show you the deepest, darkest, most sacred parts of your soulmate, the parts that help make them who they are. pay attention._

she hopes her memories are not too much of a burden on her soulmate, if she has one. he hopes he doesn't have one at all, because who would want to dream of the things he's seen in life? that would just be cruel. 

the first dream she remembers is of a dark room, dank and ripe smelling, and all she can hear is dripping water and the pounding of her heart in her own ears. she feels afraid, so afraid of whatever place this is that her heart shoots up into her throat until she might choke on this room and this stale air and the feeling of strange inevitability. when she wakes up she hopes that this memory isn't true, that it's twisted, and that no one would ever have to see or experience a place like that. she hopes that the world wouldn't be so cruel, and later rationalizes it that it must have been a haunted house, and they must have been young to be so afraid. yes, that was it. a place that was meant to be scary, because who could bring a child to a place like that?

she was a child still, so she assumed her soulmate was. how young were they when they saw that awful place? she shudders to think of it. 

> he dreams of a cemetery and endless gray skies, but it's not where his mother is buried. this overlooks the city, and there are large trees in the background. the name on the headstone is obscured because he can't see past the black coat of the person in front of him. his hands feel so small in the hands of whoever he is holding on to. there is nothing identifiable, nothing distinguishable to tell him who this is or where this is. glancing up at the sky, he can feel tears run down his cheeks and it feels like the world is heavy, so heavy, and that he might not be able to move from this place. 
> 
> later he dreams of staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, a thing blanket pulled up to his shoulders, whispering 'come home' over and over again, trying to drown out the quiet sobs coming from the next room. something is wrong and no matter how strongly he wants to fix it, there is a finality in the knowledge that nothing can make this better. it weighs him down until it feels like the blanket is made of lead instead of cotton, and as if the pillow might swallow him up and suffocate him. 
> 
> he hates that feeling, but knows it. idly, he wonders just how awful this person's life has been. if they will commiserate. if they will understand. (no one will understand, he knows that)

she's crouched under a cabinet, curled into a ball between the bottom of it and the floor, hands covering her ears. there's screaming and thuds in the background, and she can feel the tears prick at her eyes. but she has to stay quiet, she knows she can't cry. if she cries then she'll be in trouble, which will make one of them mad and one of them sad. them who? which one is which? the screams grow louder and the thuds closer until everything is covered in a haze of smoke and she wakes up. 

not all of the dreams are terrible, though. so many, more than either of them like, are sad and weighed down with pain and loss, but there are good ones too. sore muscles in a steamy bathtub, accompanied by the knowledge that good work was done that day. giggling over fried rice, and a sense of accomplishment that spills over into laughter and wide grins. 

she dreams of an unfamiliar courtyard, a teacher and his students in the middle of it talking. she's waiting behind the courtyard wall, peeking her head out. she knows she shouldn't interrupt and is waiting to walk in so she doesn't get in trouble - why is there so much anxiety there? - but when she is noticed the happiness bubbles up and she runs into the courtyard, a hat in her hand, and is picked up by an unfamiliar man, swung in a circle until she screams with laughter. 

who is he? a father? a brother? whoever they are, they care deeply and she is so thankful that there is someone kind in this person's life. everyone needs someone like that, which only makes her miss her mother more. 

> there doesn't seem to be any order to the dreams. it's not as if time is only flowing in one direction - it jumps. is it based on what he needs to see? or what he wants to see the most? or how they're feeling, this soulmate of his?
> 
> when he dreams about rain hitting a tarp, pitter-pattering, he feels older. there's no way to explain it, but he just _feels_ it. there's a maturity to the weight of these feelings, sadness tempered by acceptance that this is just life now, and a cautious optimism of always trying to make things better. something about this place smells familiar, but don't all woods smell the same? there's just darkness, feeling like eyes are closed - his or theirs? - and there's something sharp poking into his collarbone. it's not heavy, but it's held tight. 
> 
> weeks later, he dreams of a quiet sunlit room, and looking up at someone with orange hair - is it orange? is it red? light brown? through a brown haze that tickles like hair grown too long it's not easy to make out what's in front of him. a figure, kneeling at a table, bent and almost broken looking. the room is drowning in sadness and as much as he feels that he wants to do something, he knows its hopeless. has he tried this before? _mom_ he wants to cry, but his voice is stuck, as if the room has stolen all the noise away. spotted, aged hands pick him up and cover his eyes, murmuring comforting words. _some people grieve differently. and sometimes people let their sadness wash over them. not everyone can swim, magomusume._

sometimes the dreams don't even make sense. tohru dreams of her skin stretching, pulling and itching and burning - shame and fury burning as well. her body doesn't feel like her own, or even human. somewhere, there is a stench that is so strong she might puke if she could control her own body. with it comes the need to run, and hide from whoever is there. disgust, for herself and her cowardice, and the world is burning and her along with it. it's a horror and she wakes up confused and wondering just what happened there. can you dream about a memory of a dream? or maybe it was a movie...

> but not all of the dreams are bad - there are times that he wakes up smiling, warmed by a happiness and love that he can't place. 
> 
> he dreams of shattering pottery and giggling, running up stairs and collapsing on the floor in a pile of limbs and hair. it's funny, whatever is happening, it blends with laughter, bubbling up from a well of pride, sitting at a low dining table. the knowledge that he made something and made it well, and made someone happy with it, warms his soul in ways that he hadn't known. the room smells like garlic and chicken, and it feels like there's a rice grain stuck where a tooth was lost just a week before... this is a dream where he could stay for ages, and hopes for more happy memories. 
> 
> they're few and far between, but they are precious when they're there

she dreams of the woods. the air is clear and cold, and she can feel the soft earth beneath her feet and in her hands. it's cold, bitingly so, but there is a sunrise in the distance. the smell of pine and campfire are soothing, and there is a peace in this place. after months of anger and frustration and fear, this place is - if not happy - then content, and she is content to be there. it feels _safe_ , and she can tell that this is a new feeling. 

* * *

their dreams collide later, full of dust and drywall, and ceiling beams falling down. orange smoke dances around the edges, and a nervousness that neither of them can place. 

it's strange how differently someone can view something than you. 


End file.
